


Naughty

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tom’s been a bad student, ooh.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Naughty

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s a number of Starfleet Academy uniforms listed in Voyager’s memory banks, and it’s happy to synthesize any one of them. There’s a moment where Harry just stares at the selection, waiting for Tom to choose, except Tom nudges his shoulder like _he’s_ supposed to pick. Except Harry doesn’t have a preference. Maybe it should be the same one he wore, maybe it should be the new ones just put in circulation after he left, maybe some historical choice—he doesn’t know. It’s not _his_ fantasy. He’s just along for the ride.

When he takes too long, Tom rolls his eyes and selects a bright red pant-jacket combo. There’s a split second where Harry thinks maybe Tom’s going to pick _the skirt_ , simply for easy access, but no. Hardly anyone on Voyager ever opts for a skirt anyway. While it’s printing out, Harry asks, “Should I change, or...?”

“Nope,” Tom tells him. “You still wear the uniform. You’re a retired commander teaching at the Academy because...” he pauses, as though he hadn’t thought it out quite that far but now thinks it necessary, and eventually settles on, “You injured your leg in the war.”

“The war,” Harry dryly repeats, rhetorical, because he doesn’t really want Tom to answer. That’s already a ridiculous cover story. He still finds it weird that he’s the one being the ‘professor’ in the first place, because in reality, he’s younger than Tom is. And he’s a _long_ way off from commander.

The uniform finishes with a quiet chime, and Tom plucks the crisp new fabric out of the receptacle. Harry turns around on instinct, even though it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. “You don’t wanna watch?” Tom teases, because even when he’s pretending to be someone else, he’s still _Tom._

“I’m a respectable teacher,” Harry tosses back, “not a peeping Tom.” Pun very much intended. Tom snorts appropriately. 

Harry stands there, just a few steps from Tom’s bed, staring at the rest of Tom’s very lived-in quarters, while material ruffles behind him. He can make out Tom’s usual uniform hitting the floor, and then it’s kicked to the side far enough that it emerges in his peripherals. Tom asks, “Think I should add the hat?”

Harry just shrugs. “S’your fantasy.”

“Yeh, but you can still give input. I helped you with your tie for the all-oboe orgy orchestra—”

“You said you wouldn’t talk about that outside of the scene!”

Tom laughs but blessedly doesn’t push it. It was hard enough for Harry to admit his last roleplay wish in the sanctity of his own quarters, half drunk on too much Synthahol and the captain’s praise over his successful away mission, but he’d made Tom _swear_ to never speak of it again.

The same rules probably don’t apply to Tom’s ideas, but Harry will keep the secret anyway. He doesn’t need people to know he was willing to play corrupt professor to Tom’s college-bad-boy fantasy.

“Alright, Professor Kim. Good to go.”

Harry shuffles around, half wondering if he should don a different name for this. Then he’s facing Tom, standing there in a too-snug, vivid red uniform right out of the history books. It hugs him in all the right places, practically glued to his hips and taut across his chest, clever darting highlight the lean lines of his handsome body. His blond-brown hair is messily brushed to the side, his face somehow more youthful for the getup, but his blue eyes still shine with very adult mischief. Tom quips, “I’m in my senior year, by the way. Not underage.”

Harry wouldn’t have played along if he was. It still feels weird. Harry would’ve _never_ slept with any of his professors, even the totally hunky Andorian that always got way too close during physical exams. But then, Harry actually graduated. 

Tom clearly made the right decision. He ended up just fine. He landed right where he should be—in private quarters with Harry—donning that wicked smirk that always makes Harry’s head buzz. He’s ridiculously warm but doesn’t ask Tom to turn down the temperature, because he knows it’s just his hormones raging. Tom’s not even _doing_ anything, and Harry’s already excited. He just likes _Tom_ , any which way he can have him. 

When Harry doesn’t do anything but keep staring, Tom sighs and provides: “So I just skipped class.”

Harry’s mouth is already dry. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Because I’m literally too cool for school. I couldn’t be bothered to take your stupid class, _Professor_ Kim.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. He’s sure if he did have a class at the Academy, it’d be worth taking. Tom takes a step closer and jabs a finger at his chest, telling him pointedly, “And I’m _gonna_ keep skipping your class, because I know you’re not gonna do shit about it.”

Harry’s really tempted to say ‘your lost.’ But he doesn’t, because they already discussed this, and he does know what Tom wants. He’s just... not exactly sure how to go about starting it. He tries, “Attend my class, Cadet.”

He can see the mirth in Tom’s eyes. He’s totally already blowing it. But Tom doesn’t break the scene to scold him, just shoves him so hard he actually stumbles back a few steps. “Maybe I would if you spoke up in it. But you’re so weak-willed you can’t even make your students listen. Starfleet’s worn you down. It’s made you _soft_. And now it’s tying your hands so you can’t even fix it.”

Harry dodges Tom’s next invasive push, circling backwards around the bed. “That’s enough, Cadet. You need to respect Starfleet—”

“Or else what? You gonna teach me a lesson? Because so far, you haven’t taught me a damn thing.” He gets _right in Harry’s face_ , and they’re pretty much the same height—Tom might even be a little thinner—but Tom’s _fiercer_ , and Harry feels like _he’s_ the one being schooled. He swallows and tries to steel himself over. 

“If you keep disrespecting the Academy—”

“You’ll what? Write me up? Call my daddy? Pull down my pants and _spank_ me?”

There it is. _Exactly_ what Harry’s supposed to be doing. And in a way, he’s done it before. He’s practically torn Tom’s clothes off in a frenzy of greedy hands and lips and teeth, and sometimes he’s topped, pounded into Tom’s pert rear over and over, but it’s always been mutual scrambling, not _Harry exercising power._ Tom looks at him, _waiting._

Harry breathes, “Don’t tempt me?”

A smirk flitters over Tom’s gorgeous face. “Oh yeah? Think you have the gall to try?” He finally steps out of Harry’s personal bubble, swiveling to the bed—Harry briefly wonders what that bed’s supposed to be in this. A desk, maybe? Are they in Harry’s office? Did Harry corner him on the grounds, and now Tom’s bending over a hedge? Tom drops right onto the mattress, reaches back, and shoves his own pants right down his thighs, enough that Harry can see _everything_. The round, pink cheeks actually jiggle when he shakes his hips, spreading his legs just enough for Harry to get a small peek at what lies between them. He should’ve known Tom wouldn’t have put any underwear on. Tom snarls, “C’mon, Prof. I _dare_ ya.”

Tom’s so cheeky sometimes. Thinking that makes Harry think of Tom’s _ass-cheeks_ , and maybe that should make him laugh, but instead it just makes him uncomfortably hard. He’d rather just collapse atop Tom, wrap him in a tight hug, and rut into him like an animal. Tom prompts, “...Professor...”

Harry mutters, “Right,” more to himself than Tom, and steps forward. 

He doesn’t let himself think about it. He pulls his hand back and brings it careening down across both ripe cheeks. The smacking sound rings through the air, almost drowned out by Tom’s immediately moan. Harry’s sure he’s blushing right to his ears. He watches Tom’s pale skin quiver from the impact and flush a subtle red. Then he sucks in a breath and does it again, drawing out another cry—again—and Tom goads, “Harder!”

Harry tries to oblige. He still doesn’t go _too_ hard. He _loves_ Tom. He’d probably love Tom even if he were the youngest professor in Starfleet Academy history and Tom was his rebel student, but he’d make sure they never dated until Tom graduated, and he still wouldn’t _spank_ Tom—

Tom swears, “Fuck,” and buries his face in the mattress. Harry abruptly stops, worrying he’s gone too far, done it too much, but as soon as the torment ends, Tom shoots a glare over his shoulder that clearly means _keep going._ So Harry does, like he’s the student in Tom’s weird kink class. Which Harry would never take. Because this is already weird and embarrassing enough as it is—

Tom screams, “Professor!” right when the door to his quarters swishes open. B’Elanna strolls inside like she owns the place, because of _course_ Tom wouldn’t lock his quarters, even for sex. 

Harry freezes, hand halfway to Tom’s exposed ass, dressed like his normal self while Tom’s in an old Academy uniform that’s slid halfway down to his ankles. 

There’s a split second where Harry is absolutely sure B’Elanna’s going to laugh at them, and he can’t blame her. She visibly struggles with words, and Harry doesn’t say anything, because his brain’s short-circuited out. Then he blurts out of nowhere, “It’s Tom’s fault.”

B’Elanna lifts both eyebrows all the way up to her ridges. “I figured.” Then she looks right at Tom and asks, “Mind if I watch?”

Tom says, “Sure,” but Harry squeaks right over top of him, “No!”

She gives Harry a hurt look, as though their friendship should include... whatever this is. It doesn’t. He loves B’Elanna dearly. But not like this. 

Finally, she shrugs and leaves. Just like that. Whatever she came for in the first place must not have been important. 

Tom clears his throat. “So... I’m still not taking your classes.”

“Tom, she just saw—”

“Nothing half the Academy hasn’t already seen, Professor Kim. Wanna punish me for that too?” Tom even winks. Harry could kill him. 

Harry’s somehow still hard. That’s the power of being anywhere near Tom’s bare ass. So Harry sighs and goes back to spanking Mr. Paris, the worst cadet he’s ever known.


End file.
